Ariel, Or, How I Wish I Were a Mermaid

I used to look through my picture books, and see her, seaweed hair interwoven with shells, and pearls, that sparkled, shimmered, somehow, under the water, glowed. I was always so jealous of her, her eyes made of old sea glass, her lips were broken pieces of coral – kiss till soft, but few dared. I could never understand, my own hair faded brown, my lips were soft – not jagged, my eyes were faded imitation of the book’s pictures .

I used to take flotsam, wear it like a wig, dangled jetsam over my ears for jewelry. But when I dove down, it all washed off, leaving me a little sandy, a little tired, and a lot wet.

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